Behind the Masque
by bubbleteadesu
Summary: Today is America's Halloween masquerade! But with England not coming, the party doesn't seem so complete, does it? Good thing, the sudden appearance of a mysterious pirate diverts America's attention. But who is this not-so-strange stranger really?


**Title:** Behind the Masque  
**Characters/Pairings:** America/England  
**Rating:** K+  
**Summary:** Today is America's awesome Halloween masquerade. But with England not coming, the party doesn't seem so complete, does it? Good thing, the sudden appearance of a mysterious pirate diverts America's attention. But who is this stranger and why does he seem so..._familiar_?  
**Warning:** rusty writing skills ffff (my last usuk fic was for the secret santa 2009 at livejournal whut)  
**AN:** written for amethyst_amore's (livejournal) prompt: _America holds a Halloween party at his place. All costumes are permitted, but everyone is required to wear a mask. He isn't expecting England to be there, but England actually goes and America doesn't recognize him. Extra love if America is kind of standing an the sidelines watching other nations dance until England asks him._  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

_i. the invitation  
_

_You Are Cordially Invited  
to  
Alfred F. Jones' Annual Halloween Ball  
With the Theme:  
"Masquerade"_

_Wear your most awesome, eye-popping, jaw-dropping costume ever.  
Don't forget your masks, of course!_

Leave it to America to use every superlative available to man in one sentence.

"Bollucks" England muttered, tossing the invitation aside, on top of his pile of junk mail. Did America really expect him to attend another one of his crazy Halloween parties? They always ended up as venues to embarrass him, damn it all! England could still remember last year's superhero-themed party, where America forced out of his sweater-and-slacks garb into a Wonder Woman costume. _Wonder Woman, of all things!_ England's face still burned whenever he remembered the horrifying moment.

Well, if America expected him to attend this year's…_masquerade_, then he better think again.

* * *

awesomehero01: Hey, hey England! Coming to this year's party?

arthur_kirkland: Sorry, America, but I have more important things to attend to

awesomehero01: WHAT! ARE YOU KIDDING ME? This is like the NUMBER ONE event of the year! Are you FREAKIN' CRAZY?

arthur_kirkland: Calm down, you git! Do you really think I'd still attend after last year's humiliating affair?

awesomehero01: England, if you're referring to the Wonder Woman costume, then that was all just for pure fun, alright? Besides, the other countries liked it a lot LOL. I know France, for one, absolutely loved it :)).

arthur_kirkland: All the more reason why I hated that cursed costume, you bloody idiot!

awesomehero01: Aww, c'mon England! France even helped me prepare for this year's party. Masquerades used to be pretty famous in his place, right?

arthur_kirkland: All the more reason why I shouldn't go. Nothing good ever comes out of anything French.

awesomehero01: You make it sound like being French is such a bad thing…

arthur_kirkland: It is, you thick-headed, daft fool! Nothing good ever comes out of anything French, mark my words.

awesomehero01: BUT ENGLAND! :( :( :(

_arthur_kirkland has signed out_

_

* * *

_

The invitation haunted England.

It was there wherever England looked. On top of his morning paper, inserted in between his pile of work-related documents, beside the remote control, even inside his underwear drawer (of all places!). The cursed invitation was _everywhere_! It was like the invitation was magically teleporting itself to different parts of England's house. (England had a strong feeling that magic really was getting involved in his life again.)

"Fine!" England threw his hands up in the air in surrender after seeing the invitation for the nth time (this time, inside the fridge). "I'm going to that bloody masquerade! Happy?"

(In the distance, tiny fairy voices could be heard, laughing gleefully. Things were now about to get _interesting_.)

* * *

_ii. the masquerade_

America watched the rest of the ball-goers from the bar while sipping his Bloody Mary (apt for a Halloween ball, eh?).

It may be a masquerade, but a few nations were still quite recognizable. There were the two Italy brothers, dressed as court jesters, each of their gravity-defying curls still standing defiantly and unmistakably. Then there was France, who, despite his high powdered hair, was still identifiable. Probably because of the unusually-large number of women surrounding him.

But majority of the guests were indistinguishable from each other, thanks to the elaborate masks hiding their identities. America couldn't positively identify which guest was a genuine country and which was an ordinary citizen (It really was a good idea to spread word of the ball through Facebook. The high number of non-country partygoers who attended made uncovering the mystery of who was who even harder to crack). America loved the animosity, the mystery hanging in the air; he just found it so _thrilling_. Oh, the exciting things one can do with the knowledge that one is safely anonymous from behind a mask!

"A glass of cranberry juice for me, please."

America turned. And stared.

At the…_pirate_ standing in front of him. And what an authentic pirate he looked! From the feathered pirate hat, to the gold-buttoned red fringed coat, the gold chains hanging from his neck, the genuine-looking sword attached at his side, down to the shiny silver-buckled boots. Just…_everything_. All he probably needed, in America's opinion was a talking parrot (and an eye patch too, actually, but then, that would be rendered useless by his elaborate red and gold mask).

"Arrr, matey?" America greeted with a wide grin.

The pirate raised an eyebrow quizzically at him (a really thick eyebrow, America couldn't help noticing).

America laughed sheepishly. The pirate turned to get his juice from the attending bartender.

"Is it a British thing?" America suddenly asked.

"What?" The pirate turned back around sharply to face him.

America shrugged. "Thick eyebrows. Most British men I know have them. (Even the country of Great Britain himself has them but the pirate didn't need to know that.) And judging from your accent, you're British, so yeah." He finished, chuckling.

The pirate shrugged back. "Probably. I never thought of getting the average eyebrow thickness of the average Brit."

America laughed. Still sipping his almost-empty Bloody Mary, he turned to watch the dancing guests.

"No offense meant, but I don't think your _robe_ is as elaborate a costume as the invitation required."

America grinned at the pirate. "I guess I just got too distracted by party preparations to prepare a really awesome costume. But look here, I think my costume is awesome enough." He pushed back some of his bangs to reveal a stick-on lightning bolt. "I'm _The Boy Who Lived_."

The pirate's mouth twitched upward into an amused smile. "Well then, if your costume is that awesome, then why is no one dancing with you?"

"Oh it doesn't matter." America replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "As long as my guests are enjoying themselves, then I'm fine just watching here by the sidelines." He winked at the pirate (though, America later realized, the pirate won't be able to see him wink from behind his blue-red-gold mask). "Pretty heroic, huh?"

(There was it again, that barely-there smile on the pirate's lips. America wondered why he noticed it too much. Why he found himself wanting to see it again and again…)

They settled into silence again, as they finished their drinks. America resumed watching the other ball-goers dancing in the middle of the floor, until he heard the sound of an empty glass clinking softly against the counter and the pirate's hesitant voice asking:

"Well then, why not dance with me?"

* * *

The next dance was a waltz. America grinned at the pirate as the first few notes started to waft through the air.

"So who's the guy and who's the girl?"

The pirate replied by wrapping an arm around America's waist. He felt his breath hitch in his throat in surprise.

"I do hope you know how to dance this." The pirate told America rather sternly. America only smiled back guiltily in return.

They began to spin around the dance floor with disastrous results. America hoped the pirate's toes didn't ache that much after all the times he had stepped on them.

"No wonder no one wants to dance with you." The pirate muttered under his breath.

"Hey!" America retorted back jokingly.

After several more turns with America either stepping on the pirate's toes or tripping on his own feet, the pirate stopped. He let go of America, to the other man's surprise.

"I'm sorry!" America apologized hastily. He didn't want his dance with the pirate to end, not yet!

The pirate sighed. America caught several muttered exclamations of _'that boy; never pays attention; didn't teach him the woman's part yet, of course_'.

"Excuse me?" America blurted out, confused.

"Nothing." The pirate sighed again. "Look. This isn't going to work so I guess you can take the male part."

"Oh yes!" America beamed widely at the pirate. "Now I'll show you I'm quite awesome at dancing too!" He wrapped his arms around the pirate's waist and noted (with great satisfaction) the way the pirate's cheeks colored slightly.

_1, 2, 3. 1, 2 ,3._

With the pirate's guidance, America soon got the two of them spinning effortlessly around. It was surprising (at least to America) how, as soon as America got the correct timing, they began to just dance in sync, as if they had been dance partners for centuries.

"Looks like I taught you well."

"Eh?" America stared at his dance partner.

"I-I mean." the pirate hastily corrected himself. "Whoever taught you to dance taught you well."

America beamed proudly. "He did, did he? I'm sure he'll be glad to hear that."

"Oh yes, I'm sure he would." The pirate replied. (And damn! There it was again, that small almost-there smile. He better stopped doing that because America was finding it hard to restrain himself from, from-)

The last notes of the waltz died down and the pair found themselves finishing their dance in the middle of the floor.

"It was nice dancing with you." The pirate let go of America's hand, his mouth still curled upward in that almost-smile.

And America found himself leaning forward, his arm wrapped around the pirate's waist again-

-And the wizard kissed the pirate.

* * *

"Don't tell me you go around kissing random strangers in your free time." The pirate remarked wryly.

They were back at the bar again, each with a drink in his hand (another Bloody Mary and cranberry juice, respectively).

_Oh no, I don't, of course. But then, you don't seem like such a stranger to me, that's all._ America wanted to reply. Instead, he merely gave the pirate a bright smile in return.

The pirate took out a gold pocket watch from his pocket (how authentic could you get?) and checked the time. "Oh my! It's eleven o' clock already. I better get going now." He attempted to stand up but America pulled him back down against his stool again.

The pirate's eyebrows furrowed downward, showing his annoyance. "What is it now, young man? Look, I know this is your party but you can't just go and stop your guests from leaving."

"Oh I won't" America replied cheerfully. "But before you leave, can you show me who you are? Please?"

The pirate attempted to free himself from America's grasp but the other man was much stronger. And quicker too. Before the pirate could protest, America had his red and gold mask in his hands.

* * *

_iii. the unmasking_

America stared at England, his mouth gaping wide open. He quite resembled a fish-out-of-the-water in England's opinion.

"It's _you_!" America finally stammered out, as soon as he recovered from the shock.

"Yes, it's me." England replied, with a roll of his eyes. "How many times do I have to repeat that for you?"

"But, why aren't you surprised to see me?" America stared at England again, as the realization dawned on him. "_You knew it was me, didn't you?_"

"Oh hi there, Nantucket, I can see you from ten feet away." England shot back sarcastically.

"Well, I wouldn't have danced with you, if I knew it was you." America huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, but I only danced with you because you looked so pitiful all by your lonesome, that's all." England retorted.

They stayed like that, in all pretend displeasure at each other, while emptying their drinks.

It was America who finally decided to break the uncomfortable silence.

"Honestly though," He murmured, scratching the back of his head in an attempt to hide his embarrassment, "I'm glad you came. I'd still dance with you, even if I was knew it was you."

"Would you kiss me too, if you knew it was me?" England murmured, mostly to himself.

He glanced at America; the other nation was gazing at him meaningfully. And England felt his face heat up until the farthest tips of his ears at the realization that, _maybe_, he said that previous question a _little_ too loudly.

"Look." England hastily stammered out. "Just ignore that question, okay? I mean, of course you wouldn't! Why would you want-"

America pulled England off his stool suddenly, causing England to fall on top of him, a tangled mess of gold chains and a lopsided feathered hat. And soon, America's arms were around England's waist and England's were around America's and soon-

-England got the answer he (secretly) wanted.

_end_


End file.
